Hunter
by P-effect
Summary: With the kiss of a father, wounds are healed, hearts are mended, and the Centre will fall.
1. The Echoes of the Past

Tittle: Hunter-- Chapter One  
Author: P_Effect  
Email: Slinky503@aol.com  
Category: Angst/Story  
Keywords: MPJF/R, MPOF, MPBF, MPSF Character death, angst, and violence.   
Spoilers: The Pretender 2001  
Author's Note: Hey. I got this idea after a bitchfest with my best buddygal Missa. She brought up the idea that she could believe that Raines was P's father, but that Jarod's was some other guy (not Charles). I countered with the concept that MP's dad might not have been introduced yet. Well, here is the result of months of thought and weeks of proofreading. Thanx 2 Missa for helping fuel my creative fires in substitute of my muses, all but one of whom were destroyed when they fought over the last cigarette.  
FEEDBACK!!! AND ARCHIVE WHERE EVA YA WANT!!  
Enjoy.  
  
Hunter  
Chapter One  
  
My mother named me Jonathan M. Hunter while I was still in the womb. George Hunter, my father, argued that if it was a girl, she would be up the creak without a paddle, to which my mother replied that I was a boy, and if he didn't like it, tough shit.  
And Catie wondered where I got my stubborn streak from... I'm getting way ahead of myself. Sorry, but the mind tends to drift when you've been locked down in SL-29 for this long. Has it only been thirty years? It seems like centuries ago. Ages since I was ripped from power, my dreams shot down in front of me and my life with my daughter taken from me before it had a chance to start...  
My daughter. My little girl. My angel. Of course, now she's HIS angel. HIS daughter.  
But she'll never be his child.  
This gives me the only speck of hope that I can keep alive down here. She'll always be my child, not even he can take that away from me. No one can! Not that Cigarette Smoking Asswipe Raines, or that Lying Sonavabitch Parker! SHE'S MY LITTLE GIRL!!!  
...see what I mean about getting side tracked? I'm supposed to be starting at the beginning. I guess it's the right place to begin-- as good as any other.  
I was born Jonathan M. Hunter, or Jack for short. My mother was a secretary for a law firm, my father a captain in the Capilucci crime family. Growing up, I was exposed to the worst and best of the world, morals coming in from all sides. But despite what they were, my parents loved each other. My father always said that there were two kinds of women in the world: bitches, and the ones that aren't worth messin' with. And that my mother was a bitch, right down to her core. This always earned him a playful glare and a kiss from my mother.  
I played, I learned, I lived. I was a good student, quarterback for the football team, all American boy. I grew up and went into one of the more...unique professions. Bounty Hunting. Yes, I know, not exactly the most honorable line of work. But the money was good, and I was doing something I had always loved.  
Hunting.  
Ironic, considering my name, but nonetheless I had always loved relying on my instincts and God given talents to get what I wanted. I was good at it too-- brought back so many criminals I lost count, and each time I got better and better.   
I came to realize that I had some very special abilities after some time. I could hear someone breathe from 100 yards away if I focused-- could smell someone's sweat over the stench of rotting fish heads and putrid garbage. To this day I refer to it as my "Baser Instincts," not knowing anything more correct to term it. That's what they are-- instinctual abilities and feelings left to me by my ancestors.  
Things were going great-- I liked my job, life, and friends. Everything in my life was going perfectly...  
And, of course, every all American boy, eventually meets an all American girl.  
Catherine Jamison. The most beautiful woman I've ever met.  
Hair like chocolate, eyes like emeralds, skin like porcelain. I met her after my grandfather had a heart attack-- she was a nurse in the hospital. I was so depressed about the whole incident, sitting in the hallway with my head in my hands...and she came up to me, took my hand, and led me down to the cafeteria to get some coffee.   
Her voice held such soft concern-- such complete and utter caring-- that it made my chest feel tight with adoration, my throat closing up in happiness.  
We got married exactly a year later.  
Catherine confided her dreams to me. She said that the only thing she really wanted to achieve in life was helping others, and that she had gotten together with two other women-- a Ms. Edna Tulen and Ms. Margaret Downing-- and had designed a plan to help make their dreams come true. They bought an old apartment building, fixed it up, and set up shop. I named it The Centre, after an old deli.   
The one Catherine had taken me into to get me a sandwich when my grandfather had taken a turn for the worst.  
We worked out all right for a while, getting donations from the local businesses and the government. Children with illnesses and no families came to stay with us, getting treatment and love.   
I hoped it would never end.  
Catherine opened a wing for gifted children-- ones with special abilities. Ones like her. She had told me of her "Inner Sense" when we had gotten married, wanting to let me know just in case she ever seemed out of it. To make sure I didn't worry too much.   
Not like that stopped me.  
I think they approached Edna first... No, it was Margaret. I remember, because Margaret and Catherine had always been the best of friends, and as much as she loved Edna, Margaret's opinion always took top billing.   
A company from Africa called the Triumvirate had looked at what we were doing, and had decided we looked like a good investment. All we had to do was let them run some medical experiments on labrats and help them with their research. We agreed, signing over our souls to the devil we knew.   
They bought us a compound by the sea, filled with sublevels and huge offices. We had the medical facilities to treat and house hundreds of thousands of children! Oh, I still remember the happy look on Catherine's face, the shine in her eyes, and the tremor of joy in her voice as she told me of their productivity.   
Their productivity...and my daughter.  
A daughter. MY daughter...I was going to be a daddy. My cheeks had been spread so wide that I felt certain that I would never be able to wipe the shit eating grin off my lips. I went around showing her ultrasound to everyone from the mailman to the highest members of the Triumvirate. I hovered over Catherine like a hawk, at her side 24/7, only leaving when she laughingly shoved me out, or when Edna and Margaret dragged me away-- either them or their husbands. Have I mentioned them?  
Edna married a man named William Raines, a Doctor...and not to speak ill of Edna's tastes, but even back then I got a really creepy feeling around him. He always seemed a bit too...Dr. Frankenstein.  
Now Margaret's hubby-- he was a different story. Major Charles Russell, United States Air Force. One of my best buds.   
Charles always seemed to know what to do or say. He used to claim that one day Catherine would come to her senses and marry some nice military man. I, in turn, would say that one day Margaret would wake up and dump his sorry ass for a nice Jewish doctor.  
As I said, the perfect friend.  
They had a son too-- what was his name again...Some mix of James and Nimrod...Jarod! That was it. A nicer child you've never met-- he was content to sit in a corner and color in a book. And smart too--he knew how to play a better game of chess than I did. Beat the pants off me!  
I remember how he had stared at Catherine's growing belly, until he had been allowed to touch it and feel my daughter kicking. He used to love to sit on her lap-- Margaret was so bony she didn't really have one to speak of, and Jarod always loved to sit in Catherine's comforting embrace while Margaret looked on in amusement.   
I only remember this, because one day, my daughter, still in Catherine's womb, kicked him off.  
It was Charles who introduced me to Dr. Jacob Green, a Holocaust survivor whose trials and horrific past had only served to strengthen his love of life and his fierce love of all things good. Jacob had a twin brother-- Dr. Sydney Green-- who, though just as protective of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, always seemed a little less strong willed. Sydney was more in the category of going with the flow, while Jacob would stand up and fight at the smallest indecency. Somewhere in between the two was the perfect man, one who knew when to stand up, but also when to shut up and enjoy the ride. However, for both of their faults, Catherine and I trusted and cared about them.  
Things were going grand. Raines and Charles had started working at the Centre. Sydney and Jacob had done wonders with the gifted children-- helping them gain control and power over their gifts. Productivity was through the roof, my wife was going to give birth in 9 months, and all the people around me were good hearted.  
And then he came along...  
Mr. James Parker was an operative from the Triumvirate, who took one look at Catherine and started salivating. I saw it and Charles saw it, but Catherine, who had never been aware of her power over people, was ignorant to his attractions. I saw it though. I saw every look at her legs, every gaze at her ass, every sweep of his fingers over hers when he handed her something.   
I hated him for it.   
I still do.  
But, I was secure in my position, or so I thought. Catherine loved me-- she told me so every morning, every night, and a million times in between. I had a daughter on the way-- a beautiful little girl who'd call me dad and who'd be there for me to shower love and attention upon. I would get to have a glorious life with my two favorite women and our friends.  
And then that bastard made his move.  
I was attacked by some of Parker's men when I walked out of my office. I wasn't paying attention to them-- I should have been-- but judging by the news I had just heard, you really couldn't have expected me to.  
I'd found a file in the mainframe called "NuAge," and in it I read about a future.  
A future of pain and suffering for the innocent, one of undermining the government, disreguarding morals and the value of human lives, playing God for a whole future generation...  
Starting with my daughter and Jarod.   
The little boy who knew how to play chess was aparently one of the special children that the Centre housed-- but to a much larger degree. The records talked of how the Triumvirate had been monitoring the child's growth and progress...  
And how they planned to use my daughter to bring about a new era in the Centre.  
So I was distracted, as you can well imagine and as I claimed. They never would have taken me alive otherwise.  
I was dragged to a room down in an empty sublevel and beaten within an inch of my life. My ribs, which remained unset, still bear the scars. My back was ripped into by chains and torn bloody by the boots and knives of the men in black suits. I could feel my life being stolen away from my body...and then he came.  
James leaned down and smiled at me, a smile of true evil. "Jacky my boy, there just isn't enough room in Catherine's life for the both of us. And unfortunately for you, I intend on being the champion of this little shindig." I can remember everything about that moment-- the stench of his breath, the look of power in his eyes, my own blood filling my mouth.   
"You'll never get away with this. My friends will come looking for me, Catherine will come looking for me-- my daughter will come looking for me!" Parker laughed and shook his head.   
"Intelligence never was one of your strong suits, was it my friend," he leaned in close and grinned, his eyes crinkling in humor. "They won't remember you. I can make sure of it. Charles and Margaret will have never met you, Catherine will praise me as her husband, and as for your daughter, well, she'll be my angel, not yours. Her and her brother." My head swam, and not just because of the blood loss. "Brother?"  
"I wanted a son. And Raines wanted a test subject. Catherine received an already implanted ova during her last test, and your child and mine are growing quite happily inside her." I felt the anger fill me, and with the last dregs of my waning strength, I grabbed him. "You'll never get away with this-" He shoved me back down. "I already have, Jacky boy. Don't be so cliche. And as for the fact that she's your daughter, well, no one's perfect." And with that, he rose and gave me one last kick, and then walked out, leaving me on the floor.   
The heavy door slammed closed and the locked slid into place with deep reverberating thunks.  
I've been here ever since.  
I spent the first few years in mourning. Mourning for the life I'd lost, the wife I'd been stolen from, the daughter I'd never see grow up. I wondered a lot about her-- I still do.  
Did Catherine name her Morganna like we'd agreed on? Or did James take that from us too?  
Did Jarod become the plaything of the Triumvirate like they planned? Or did Charles keep him safe?  
Did Catherine ever remember me?   
Yes, I refer to Catherine in the past tense. I heard some of the men in black talking as they brought my food in, one day many years ago.  
"...right in front of the little girl? Man, Raines has balls." "Or no soul. I liked Catherine-- she baked all of our team cookies for Martin's birthday." "Yep, too bad she had to kick. Nice ass on her too."   
Have I mentioned, recently, that being stuck down in SL-29 sucks ass? No?  
Being stuck down in SL-29 sucks ass. Especially when the object of your rage isn't in SL-29, and is somewhere out in the world causing chaos and pain to all those who he comes near.  
I swear to God, when I get out of here, Raines and Parker are going to hell so quickly that they won't have time to try and bribe the Grim Reaper.  
  
tbc.  
Like it? Hate it? Feedback, the answer to all pet peeves.  
Slinky503@aol.com  
More to come... 


	2. Release

Tittle: Hunter-- Ch2  
Author: P_Effect  
Summary: Miss Parker finds her Daddydearest... and the Centre ain't never gonna be the same. (corny, I know)  
Author's Note: Hey. I got this idea after a bitchfest with my best buddygal Missa. She brought up the idea that she could believe that Raines was P's father, but that Jarod's was some other guy (not Charles). I countered with the concept that MP's dad might not have been introduced yet. Well, here is the result of months of thought and weeks of proofreading. Thanx 2 Missa for helping fuel my creative fires in substitute of my muses, all but one of whom were destroyed when they fought over the last cigarette.  
FEEDBACK!!! AND ARCHIVE WHERE EVA YA WANT!!  
Enjoy.  
  
HUNTER: CH 2  
  
I heard them coming one day; coming earlier than usual. Even being locked up in a cell has never been able to throw my internal clock off, one of the few things Parker hadn't ripped from me. I head the thump of one pair of male shoes, and the padding along of a pair or sneakers, coming closer to me...But these were going much slower, much more cautiously in their steps...And there was another noise accompanying them...the click of heels, high ones from the sound of it.   
Their voices swam to my ears, making their way through the blaze of pain that was surrounding me. The bones that had been broken during my initial subdument had never been taken care of, and even 29 levels down, I could feel the pressure in the atmosphere that yelled to me that it was about to rain. The woman's, low and strong, speaking of strength and power was husky with the intensity she was demanding from it. The first male's voice was old and wise, speaking of fatherly concern for those around him. The second male's was jittery and nervous, a squirrel on caffeine who was watching for the neighbor's cat anxiously.   
"...sure? I mean, this place is really, really creepy!" "Don't be such a spineless puddle of geek goo, Broots. I'm going to find out why I didn't know about this level if it lands my ass in a T-Board." "I don't think that is what Broots is worried about. I believe he is more concerned about *his* ass landing in a T-Board." "I know. But I really don't care about his ass as much as my own, so Brootsie boy, you're along for the ride. Freud, however, can back out anytime he wants to." "You question my courage?" "No, I question if your insane enough to want to do this with me."   
The lights flashed under the door. "Hold up, give me a hand with these locks." I sensed, more than heard, the rusty locks creak open. The pain was intense now, screaming in my brain and burning my nerves. The door was pulled open, and light searched the room. "I don't see any...oh my God..."  
The light burned against my tightly closed eyelids. I groaned in agony, the combination of the brightness against my so long unused eyes and the pain from the pressure finally causing me to react vocally. Heels walked in, and a cool hand checked my pulse. The pain was so intense!  
"Help me...plea..." The hand withdrew quickly, and the Shoes and Sneakers came in. "My God, how long has he been down here?" "No idea. But I think it's about time he got a glimpse at sunlight, don't you?" Heels turned her voice back to me. "Can you hear me?" I nodded. "Yes..." "Do you think you can stand?" I swallowed thickly, my mind quickly weighing the pain against my abilities. "I think so..." Shoes and Sneakers grabbed a hold of both of my shoulders, while Heels helped keep my neck from flopping all over. My teeth remained grit hard in pain, my eyes clenched hard together.   
"Turn your light out, Broots," Heel's ordered. He did as commanded, and I could now give Sneaker's a proper name. Heels gently touched my cheek. "Open your eyes, mister..." "Hunter," I grunted as I tried to comply. "Jonathan Hunt..." My eyes, now opened, were staring into a face that I recognized with such complete clarity, that I felt my head spin.   
"Catherine..." The world went black, and I lost my grip on everything but that face, ignorant to every stimuli except the chilling cold that those ice blue eyes sent down my spine.  
Unconsciousness is becoming too close of a friend to me, was my last thought as I greeted it once again.  
  
tbc.  
Feedback! Pweety pweeeeese?  
Slinky503@aol.com  
May the Parker Effect be good to you...^_^  
  
  
"I have this soap called "Gee, Your Balls Smell Fruity." Guess what it does?"-Adam Corolla  
  
  
Parker Effect, First Assasin of the Sect of Parker, Member of the High Order of Sci Babes and Power Chicks~ Devoted follower of Aeryn, Rebecca, Carter, Scully, Parker, Beka, Sydney, Janeway, and Claire~  
  
Death to all squinty eyed, poofy haired, badly dressed, fat assed bastards, and Cana Hara Pu Pu to the Dharma, Kharma, and Fate. 


	3. New Settings

Tittle: Hunter-- Ch3  
Author: P_Effect  
Email: Slinky503@aol.com  
Spoilers: The Pretender 2001  
Summary: Miss Parker finds her Daddydearest... and the Centre ain't never gonna be the same. (corny, I know)  
Author's Note: Hey. I got this idea after a bitchfest with my best buddygal Missa. She brought up the idea that she could believe that Raines was P's father, but that Jarod's was some other guy (not Charles). I countered with the concept that MP's dad might not have been introduced yet. Well, here is the result of months of thought and weeks of proofreading. Thanx 2 Missa for helping fuel my creative fires in substitute of my muses, all but one of whom were destroyed when they fought over the last cigarette.  
FEEDBACK!!! AND ARCHIVE WHERE EVA YA WANT!!  
Enjoy.  
  
Hunter CH3  
  
  
I awoke with the slamming of a door, and suddenly felt on ends about my current position. So new, so vividly distracting, so many stimuli pounding into my skull-- and for the first time ever, I yearned for my prison. I didn't miss my cell, but more missed the reassurement and the known boundaries they had set for me. Before, at least I had known exactly where I stood and where I was always going to be, in contrast to the strange environment I now found myself in.   
A few computers sat dormant in the corner, a pattern of flying toasters playing over the screens. A pair of heavy steel reinforced doors were the main entrance, and a sub office lay behind me, hidden by two glass double doors, frosted with abstract designs. The room had a strange mix of elegance and "warehouse" to it, not at all unbecoming.   
I was lying on a black leather couch, staring up at the ceiling, which had the patterns of water playing over them in a glorious cycle. A glass of water was sitting on the low table in front of me, and I gulped it down gladly, then lifted the leather jacket on the table gingerly, smiling in thanks as I did.   
A gun. 9MM to be precise.   
Suddenly, the heavy steel doors automatically slid open with a flourish, revealing three men, accompanied by a pair of women. I grabbed the gun off the table, rising and pointing it steadily at them.   
"Who are you and what do you want?"   
The elder of the two men held his hands up soothingly, and the two women bustled around me, ignoring the gun in my hand.   
"They're going to get you cleaned up, Mr. Hunter. We mean you no harm."   
I looked at him for a moment, then slowly lowered the gun. The two women pushed me into a chair, then took out scissors and combs and set to work on my hair, all the while the elderly man talking to me.   
"You'll be perfectly safe here, you have my word."   
I looked him up and down critically. He didn't really look very strong, or able to keep me safe from anything that I wasn't able to keep away myself. As if sensing my thoughts, he motioned to one of the other men with him, one with a stony complexion and a black suit.   
"Sam is a Sweeper. He's trustworthy and fully trained in the use of weapons and unarmed defense." I nodded suspiciously towards him, and was rewarded with a nick on the chin from the woman shaving my beard off.   
"Sit still," she chastisized. I sighed and looked towards the nervous man looking over his shoulder in 3 second intervals.   
"Who's the chipmunk on crack?" The old man smiled, and the jittery balding man looked up.   
"W-Who me?" I ignored the query and looked towards the elder. He chuckled.   
"This is Broots. He's a technological advisor, and one of the most trustworthy people in the Centre."   
"That isn't saying much, sir. And if you don't mind, I'd like your name as well?"   
He smiled. "I'm Sydney."  
I gasped, feeling Parker's works swim up into my mind. "They won't remember you. I can make sure of it."   
I rubbed the back of my newly cut head. "Damn it, he was right."   
Sydney raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me, Mr. Hunter?"   
"You don't remember me, do you?"   
He shook his head. "I'm sorry, have we met before?"   
I smiled ruefully, feeling the bile rise in my throat. "I knew you...a life time ago."   
"I'm sorry, but I don't recall it-"   
"No, you wouldn't." I swallowed the sickening taste in my mouth down, and sighed.   
The women began to pack their tools up. One of them handed me a suit and pointed towards a screen (one that hadn't been there when I made my initial assesment, but I can't see where it might have come from) which I was then unceremoniusly shoved behind. As I slid the suit on, the thoughts I had had down in that cell; the ones that raved that I'd never be shoved into a suit like the ones my captors sported, they all chose that moment to flood my mind. I forcefully quashed them and slid into the shoes, then stepped out from behind the dressing screen. The women clicked their tongues in disapproval, and set about bringing the cuffs up, straightening the tie, and rearranging the way the shoulders fit. I let them whirl around me awkwardly, listening with half an ear to the talk between Sydney and Broots.   
"Syd, when's she getting in?"   
"She said she was making sure it was safe. Knowing her as I do, that means that she's loading up her guns and sliding her knife and brass knuckles into her pockets."   
"Do you think Jarod knows?"   
"If he did, and he didn't tell her, I would not want to be in his shoes when she receives his next tease. Because if she puts her mind to it, she can track him down like a dog."   
"Then there's no way in hell I'd want to be Jarod right about now-" The doors slid open with a hiss.   
"You'd never want to be Jarod, Brootsie. Because that'd mean that I'd actually have an excuse to shoot you."   
The two women bowed to the figure in the door and left, taking their tools with them. I suddenly missed them and their silent bustling, as opposed to this hissing voice. Sydney simply smiled and even Broots didn't seem to take it seriously.   
"Is everything all right, Miss Parker?"   
She stepped into view, one eyebrow raised. "Is anything ever all right around here, Syd?"   
I gasped and quickly rose, the gun again in my hand.  
Catherine's face looked back at me once more...but it was accompanied by the name of my enemy.   
She looked at me solemnly, her eyes quickly taking in my appearance, position, and weapon. All done within a fraction of a second-- anyone else would never have noticed. I only did because this woman did it in the same style I did; quick and coolly. And then, in a voice that could freeze Hellfire and turn lava into the polar ice caps, she addressed me.   
"Mr. Hunter, I've killed men for less. Whatever links you may have had to my mother, she is dead, and I don't need your information badly enough to suffer having a gun pointed at me."   
She descended the stairway with the ease and stalk of a predator, her hips swaying gently, her shoulders held high, her eyes glued to mine. I was frozen in place, swallowing spastically. A hunter-- that's exactly what she was. A kindred spirit.  
She walked until she was face to face with me, ignoring the gun I had pointed at her, giving it no more notice than a lion would a beetle. "Now," her voice was even lower and icier, "are you going to put the gun away, or do I have to have your dental records handy so they can identify you."   
I let the gun drop to my side, and she took it, and turned away from me, handing the weapon to a shaking Broots. With a wave of her hand, she compelled me to sit in the nearby chair, and then turned back to me, handing me a cup of coffee, then sipping at her own. I looked at her cautiously, sniffed the coffee, and tasted it suspiciously. She didn't look up to affirm me, simply stated, "The only drug in there is caffeine."  
I drank.  
We sat in silence for a few moments, my thoughts going a million miles an hour. Who was she? Obviously a relation of James, hence the MISS Parker. Early thirties with a distinct look of power about her. The face of Catherine. The instincts of...me.  
"Oh my God," I muttered under my breath. She looked up, one brow raised, and I swallowed thickly. Sam, sensing the tension, came down the stairs to stand behind her chair, one hand on the back of it in a manner of a protective brother. I didn't care.  
He'd said he'd raise my daughter as his own...That she'd call him daddy instead of me...That Catherine wouldn't remember me...  
I remembered the conversation I'd overheard informing me about Catherine's passing. *"...right in front of the little girl? Man, Raines has balls."* Catherine had had my daughter. Parker claimed her.  
"You're Catie's daughter...Morganna." She rose quickly, the chair overturning in her haste. Sam grasped her arm in reassurance and looked down into her face calmly. Sydney ran down the stairs and Sam turned her over to the older man. Syd grasped her shoulders in his hands, squeezing to bring her back to reality. She breathed shakily and looked at him in fear. He whispered something to her that evened her breathing and calmed her erratically darting eyes. She took several deep breaths, and then turned back to me, her face no longer as uncaring or cold as it was before.   
"How did you know my name?" I felt a burst of happiness. Catherine's subconscious had remembered-- I had been given a place in my child's life.  
"That was what she wanted to call you. It was my grandmother's name, and Catie always loved the Celtic feel to it. Said it reminded her of mystic knights, and Merlin, and red-haired princesses...She and I agreed that you'd be nothing short of that, a princess."   
She looked at me with confused eyes, her lips parted softly. "Who...who are you?" I swallowed and looked her straight in the eyes. My daughter had been lied to her entire life-- and I was going to give her the only thing I could offer her.   
The truth.  
"I am the founder of the Centre-- the last remnants of the time when this was a place of good will and honesty. Before James Parker took over," okay, even I have to admit that was rather melodramatic, "before the Triumvirate began to rule everything...Before I lost Catie and my life...  
"My name is Jonathan Hunter. I'm your father."  
The once overpowering force before me looked at me in silence for a few moments, then swallowed thickly. Sam grasped her hand in an offering of strength, but her fingers were loose and unresponsive. She looked at me, and then lowered her eyes.   
"Excuse me," she murmured and turned away from us all, walking back into her office and closing the doors behind her.  
Sam turned on me. "I swear to God, Mister, if your just playing with her, I will rip your body into bite sized shreds and feed them to rotwillers on Level 4." Then with a final glare in my direction, he walked through the frosted glass doors, closing them firmly behind him.   
The lights coming out from under the door dimmed, and I was left in the glowing light from the computer terminals, bathed along with Broots and Sydney in the artificial sunshine.  
  
  
FEEDBACK!!!!!  
Slinky503@aol.com  
May the Parker Effect be good to you...^_^ 


	4. Sam

Notes: This part was inspired by a story I wrote in one of my marble notebooks over a year ago, in which I viewed Sam as a... well, as a mix of Broots and Jarod. A man caught between fear, fierce loyalty, and his desires to #&$@ Miss Parker till his head explodes. This part was somewhat hard to write, so give me some feedback, if u don't mind. =) May the Parker Effect be good to u.  
Long Live Evil!  
  
  
Hunter:  
Chapter Four  
by P_Effect  
  
  
I hate it when the shit begins to stink. Every goddamned time this happens, I hate it even more, and now is no exception.   
Oh, don't get me wrong, I want the truth about everything that happens in this place. Jarod's folks, Catherine Parker, Mr. Lyle's extra curricular activities... All of them deserve to be told to my three trustworthy coworkers in complete and uncensored detail.  
Except that every time the truth comes out, I see her die just a little.  
I ease Miss Parker down onto the couch and pull a blanket up over her to stop the shakes that are going through her lithe body. I suspect, however, that they are not shakes of cold, rather, of shock. She's received a great one this afternoon-- one that would make anyone else crumble into hysterical screams and sobs.  
But not her.  
Miss Parker has always been unique. Mainly because of her own strength. I mean, I've seen this woman reduce fully grown men to tears without raising her voice above a whisper. That alone is proof of her strength-- or maybe it's proof of her scariness-- and it's all the proof anyone should need from her that she could take on the world without breaking a sweat.  
Unfortunately, she's been forced to provide more than just a husky whisper and a killer stride.  
In the time I have known her, Miss Parker has been shot twice, blown up three times, had a perforated ulcer, been held hostage in a bank, been through five T-Boards (only one of them with Sydney and Broots), had her lover killed, and has dealt with psychopaths, mobsters, gang members, sweepers, cleaners, and assassins. Not to mention the emotional stress she's been under. She has a genius to chase after and catch before she can leave-- a not very courteous genius-- who keeps rubbing his freedom and her family's past in her face, she's helped her stepmother give birth, she's been ordered to "kill" her brother (up until then, she was still a virgin when it came to shooting to kill-- at least that's what the grapevine said, though I doubt it), a lying father who as it turns out isn't her real father, a psychopathic brother who murders Asian women, and the combined force of the Triumvirate and Mr. Raines waiting for her to slip up so they can have an excuse to strike her down. When one thinks of all the shit she's been through, it's sorta clear that this was the proverbial straw that broke the camels back.  
There is one other way she's unique: she commands my loyalty--a feat no one else has yet to achieve.  
My father was an alcoholic bastard who used to hit both me and my mother. He'd come home drunk and yell for us to come to him, then beat the crap out of us if we were even a second late or if he decided we had been faulty in our ways. And after it was all done, he'd start to cry, bawling like a pathetic beast that he was sorry and that he loved us and that it would never happen again. I don't know which was worse: his drunkenness or his pathetic attempts at self reassurement that he wasn't a bad person.   
To this day I haven't touched more than an occasional drink, fearing that the wheels of fate might turn and crush me under the heavy bulk of alcoholism.  
My mother never commanded my loyalty either. The first real memory I have of hating her was when I was 15. My father had gotten up in her face for something, and had slapped her with all his might. I rose, out of some misguided sense of love, and whacked him back. But when I turned for praise, my mother backhanded me with such force my teeth rattled in my head.   
"What are you doing," I cried out in frustration and confusion, "I'm protecting you!" She looked at me with such utter hatred in her eyes that I felt my walls crumble, and tears threaten to drag me down into an abyss of sorrow.   
"He's your father," she said quietly, and sat down beside him, checking his face for any painful marks I might have left.   
She lost my loyalty from that day forth.  
I buried my heart underneath a wall of concrete, hid my loyalty in a safe, and built up walls of emotional barriers to protect me from pain. I went to work at the Centre, figuring that I had grown up around so much violence, that it was the one thing I was sure to be good at. I worked my way up to Sweeper, never forming emotional attachments, never showing favor towards anyone. I did my job well-- I had had so much training in it, that it was easy.  
That's probably why I was called to Mr. Parker's office that day-- he thought I wouldn't get attached to Miss Parker-- that I would remain loyal to him alone.  
The best laid plans...  
I remember everything about that day-- the feel of the cool mahogany wood at the secretary's desk, the whoosh of the double doors, my distorted reflection in the frosted glass. I stepped inside and let the giant glass slide closed behind me, then walked until I was right in front of Mr. Parker's desk, my back straight and my eyes blank and emotionless.  
"You wanted to see me, sir?"   
The man looked to me like someone who was trying to convey the image that he was untouchable. Someone who was trying too hard, and not getting enough effect. Despite all the fearful whisperings of my coworkers and the hushed conversations about his wrath, I couldn't be afraid of this man. He was just too...moronic looking.  
"Yes, Sam." He pulled a thick file out of a drawer and held it up for me to see. "Your supervisors say you're one of their best." I didn't know what to say to that, so I remained silent. He nodded gently, as if he understood something that had been troubling him for some time, and smiled at me, though it looked forced and rather fake.   
"I suppose you have heard of my daughter."   
I swallowed and thought back to the gossip pool. *Eyes that could kill Sammyboy, and a body that has killed. Mark my words, she'll run this place one day, and she'll do it a lot better than her father has.*  
"Yes, sir."   
"Good. And you've heard, of course, of the Jarod escape."   
"Yes, sir."   
"Very good. You'll be assisting on it. You're to report to my daughter's office first thing this afternoon, understand?"   
"Yes, sir."   
"Good. You may go."   
I turned on my heel and went to leave, when the doors opened forcefully, and I hand to stand back to allow a power filled burst to pass me. I turned my head to follow the movement, and my breath caught.  
She was gorgeous. Drop dead gorgeous. Her hair was perfectly done, her nails immaculate and clean, her lips painted deep crimson lipstick. The stride presented ensured two things. One, that anyone in the way would do anything to get out of it. And two, that the delightfully tiny skirt she was wearing would slip up with every step, showing even more thigh than she already did. I would have been quite content to sit there and stare all day if it had been permitted.  
However, as high on this woman as I was, it had not escaped my fuzy mind as to he identity. Patience shorter than her skirt-- gotta be Miss Parker. She shoved past me without making contact once, the indomitable force that surrounded her doing the movement for her.  
Walking over to her father's desk, she slapped the papers she had been holding down in front of him with a resounding crack.   
"What's the meaning of this?" She hissed angrily, and I found myself captivated by the danger in the tone.   
Mr. Parker simply looked up at her, one brow raised. "Angel-"   
"Don't you 'Angel' me-- you played me! You knew that I would never agree to this if you told me, and you played me!" He rose, his face purpling a bit.   
"Listen-"   
"No, you listen! I will not be a pawn for ANYONE-- you, the Centre, fuckin' God Almighty-- I am no one's stepping stone, and I refuse to be treated as such. Get it straight!" She whirrled around and slammed out the door, one which I had just recently stepped out of. The door flew open so quickly I had to jump out of its path. Her legs propelling her foward with such strength that I had to stumble out of her way with all the power in my body. She stopped and looked at me, one brow raised.  
"You're Sam Renald, aren't you?"   
"Yes Miss Parker."   
"You've been assigned to my team, according to the grapevine."   
"Yes ma'am."   
"Good. We'll get along just fine, Sammyboy, if you follow a few guidelines."   
"Yes?"   
"Do you smoke?"   
"No ma'am."   
"Carry a lighter, alright?"   
"Yes." "Do you have any problem with working late?"   
"No."   
"Early?"   
"No."   
"Any issues with reporting to me?"   
"Not all all."   
"Good. Any issues with following my orders?"   
"It seems that's what my job is, Miss Parker."   
She looked at me, and for a long moment I thought I had said something that would earn me a long and painful death... And then a miracle happened-- her lips turned up in a delicate smile.  
That was the first time I ever saw Miss Parker smile, and I resolved in that heart beat not to make it the last.  
"Yes, I think we'll get along fine. You can go-- report to my office tomorrow."   
"Your father informed me I should report today."   
She raised a brow. "First lesson-- you report to me. I deal with my father, but unless I say otherwise, my orders are more weightbearing than his."   
I nodded, thunderstruck that she knew how weak her father was, yet still managed to keep from disrespecting him directly.   
I turned to go, and was a few steps down the hall before she called after me.   
"Oh and Sam?" I turned instantly, my heart thumping heavily with hope. *Gimmesomethingtodoforyouletmehelpyouohgodalmightyletmehelpyou...* "Yes Miss Parker?"   
"Change that tie." I looked down at the offending object, then turned back to her... but she was gone. The faintest traces of Chanel hung in the air, and I don't know how long I stood there inhaling the sweet smell and fingering the silk of my tie.   
I haven't changed in some respects over the past five years-- I still inhale her scent every chance I get.   
My ties have improved.  
Miss Parker looks up at me, her body coming off the shock rush of the previous half hour. "Sam?"   
"Right here, Miss Parker."   
"Sam, could you have my man in the lab do a paternity test for me?"   
"Right away, Miss Parker. But first, you sleep." I pull the blanket over her, and she looks up at me through exhausted eyes.   
"So now you're my boss?"   
I feel a smile come onto my lips, and I let it shine through. "Yes, because at this point in time I know what's good for you. And sleep is good."   
She gives me a weak smile, curling up and surrendering to her fatigue. "Thank you *yawn* Sam."   
"Anytime, Miss Parker." I have the insane urge to do something like lean over and kiss her forehead, so I move away quickly before I can do anything castration worthy. She is, when lying like that, right at the level she needs to be at to assure that I produce no offspring, and I wouldn't want to wake the sleeping and "not a morning person" lioness that lies before me.  
I draw a chair over to the table and sit, close enough to soothe her nightmares, but far enough to remain appropriate should she wake up or the door open. I pick up a magazine off the table and flip through it idly, scanning the articles in silence. No one's going to hurt her on my watch, no siree.  
And yes, I know that sounded like an Andy Griffith reject.  
I have always been loyal to Miss Parker's wants and requests. Anything she wants-- it's hers. If she wants a certain brother of her's bumped off her Stress List, he's dead the next day. If she needs me to get her something out of Raines's office, it's in her hands within the hour. If she asks me to fuck her hard and fast on the desk until she forgets her name (please God, I'll be a good boy FOREVER if she'll just ask me for that) well then I guess the desk is going to be seeing some action, ain't it!  
Crush? Nah, what crush?  
I seriously would do anything to help her, though, as much as everyone else might not be aware of it. I would die for her, take a bullet for her, and make a fool of myself for her. Watching over her while she sleeps doesn't even scratch the surface of my dedication for this woman. I wonder if she even knows how I feel about her and her requests.  
Probably not. To her, I'm just the big muscle behind her who always backs her up. A friend, at best, but not lover material.   
Damn my luck-- why couldn't I be less head over heels in lust with her? Not much less, just less enough so that I didn't feel the stinging guilt that comes along with my thoughts of "Ha! She's still all mine, Tommy, you little carpenter asswipe! She's my chick, and you're dead so you don't even have half the chance that I do of being with her!" Another reason she won't become mine-- if those blue eyes ever develope the ESP they've been threatening to achieve, I'd be flayed alive to make a throwrug for her office.   
Happy thoughts, 'taint they?  
  
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May the Parker Effect be good to you...^_^ 


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